


Camping, Sparda Style!

by virberos



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Vergil, Bonding over food, Camping, Doppelganger shenanigans, Family Bonding, Gen, Mild Dadgil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28400640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virberos/pseuds/virberos
Summary: Go on a camping trip, Dante said. You two are gonna be just fine out there, Dante said.Nero really wishes Dante was here, just to kick his ass.
Relationships: Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	Camping, Sparda Style!

Nero sighed as they parked the RV that Dante so graciously rented for them (with what money, he wondered). Dante had suggested the two take a nice weekend camping trip to bond (and maybe make sure the backwoods were clear of demons. Just in case). When and where Dante got the money to throw him and Vergil on this trip, Nero wasn’t sure (although he wondered if Lady was involved). He glanced to the passenger seat, where his very irritated father sat (god, it was weird to think of this man as his own father!). 

“Now what?” Vergil growled. Nero got up from the driver’s seat and opened the map that Dante had provided of the area. Pristine forestry, a shining lake not too far...well, that explained the fishing equipment in the closet. 

“I think...Dante wants us to bond somehow.” Nero said slowly. Vergil rolled his eyes. “Probably involves fishing-”

“I’m going home.” Vergil suddenly stood, only for a spectral hand to stop him.

“No you’re not.” As much as he had no idea why Dante was so insistent on them going on this trip, he wasn’t going to let this go to waste. “Dante’s babysitting.” He heard a soft defeated exhale from Vergil before he slowly relaxed. 

“Very well.” 

“At least we don’t have sleeping bags. I hate sleeping bags.” Nero mused. He opened some of the cabinets in the mini kitchen, musing over what they had. Snacks, some actual meals he could cook, and Kyrie’s leftovers in the minifridge. “You know how to fish? Because I think Dante has it in his head that we do fishing.” 

“I do not.” Vergil said, his tone still stiff. It seemed there was something still unsaid but what? Unless it was shame, but from what he knew, Vergil didn’t really have much time to develop other hobbies. Maybe he could take up knitting or something. Nero closed the fridge door and went to the closet, taking stock of their fishing equipment. Two rods, a book on fishing (as if Nero needed it), a full box of tackle and the like, and Nero had a good idea what to do. If he knew anything about fishing from being near the docks of Fortuna, it was all about patience. 

“Come on. We’re heading to the lake.” He said. Vergil merely grunted. Nero gathered everything from the closet. The tackle box was in one hand, the rods and a bucket to carry their catches in his other, and his spectral wing-hands took out two folding chairs. Carrying them out of the RV, he noticed Vergil wasn’t immediately behind him. He paused to watch the door, waiting for his father. After a few moments, Vergil stepped out of the RV with a bag in his hands. “What’s that?” Nero asked. 

“Knitting.”

“Knitting?” Nero asked. “Did you pick that up from Kyrie?”

“Yes. She suggested it to keep my hands busy.” He explained in that dry disinterested tone. Nero shrugged. 

“What cha making?”

“Socks. Dante pesters me enough about not having enough.” Nero frowned at that. It did seem like something Dante would do.

“Better give you something in return for new socks.” He huffed as they approached the lake. It was silent, pristine like a mirror. Nero pulled out the chairs, letting them snap open. Setting them down, Vergil took a seat and pulled out-

Bright pink wool. Nero snorted at the sight, earning a small smirk from his father. Nero took a seat and began to prepare the rod for fishing. He glanced to Vergil, watching as he began to knit the socks. The soft  _ tink-tink-tink _ of needles hitting each other filled the air. Nero got the bait on the tackle and, with a firm grip on the rod, swung his arms to send the hook flying. It fell gracefully into the water.

And with that, they settled into quiet. 

Occasionally, Nero pulled the line back to recast it. He wasn’t sure what to talk to his father about, considering he was busy knitting away at that pair of socks that he was going to give to Dante. He wondered how much of their relationship was mended while they were taking care of the Qliphoth in the Underworld. It had to be enough for Vergil to even consider giving Dante anything that wasn’t a new puncture wound from the Yamato. The relationship between himself and his father, on the other hand, was something else entirely. Strained and unsure, the two couldn’t think of much to bond over aside from beating each other up. All he knew was that Vergil didn’t know the truth of their relationship until that fateful hour atop the Qliphoth. If he had known, how much of their lives would’ve changed? Would their relationship be far more like a father and a son and less this estranged awkwardness that now reigned between them? Trying to do anything with Vergil was like interacting with a brick wall. He  _ heard _ that Vergil was trying but he just couldn’t  _ see _ it.

The line suddenly tugged, causing Nero to gasp. He pulled against the rod, groaning from the exertion. It even seemed to catch Vergil’s attention, the clicking of the needles falling silent. Nero growled against the pull of the line, whatever fish he had was huge! He could feel the fish pull hard against his line, hard enough to even make him stand to gain more leverage over the fish. 

“What the hell!?” Nero growled. He heard Vergil stand up, setting his little project back in his chair. His hands grabbed his shoulders to keep him from falling into the water, Nero growling from the exertion of pulling on the pole. It was just about to snap when the fish finally relented, allowing Nero to reel in the fish.

What he got with the (mangled) fish was a light blue spectral demon, a spectral demon that looked very familiar. The spectral demon let go of the fish, the dead creature falling from it’s razor sharp maw. Nero stared at it, at Vergil, and then back at it. 

“What the fuck.” The spectral demon seemed to cower at that reaction, disappearing into mist. Immediately, Vergil let go of Nero’s hands and stalked back to his seat, picking up his knitting and furiously returning to his work. “Vergil, what was that!?” 

“My doppelganger.” Vergil replied, voice clipped from barely disguised frustration. “He likes to do as he pleases.” Nero stared at the mangled fish on his hook before carefully unhooking it. He heard a splash and glanced up, seeing nothing but ripples on the pristine waters surface. Perhaps a fish breaching the water? 

Well, that thought was dashed out of his mind when he spotted that same spectral demon, Vergil’s doppelganger, breach the water again as if finding prey. Nero frowned as he watched. At least someone was having a good time. 

He wasn’t sure if he was anymore. 

He watched as the doppelganger paddled his way to the shore, another fish in his mouth. When he was on land, he took the fish out of his mouth and placed it in the bucket. He looked to Nero, tilting his head a little. Nero made an awkward noise before reaching up to pet the doppelganger’s shoulder. 

“Thanks. I-I guess.” The doppelganger seemed to perk up at that and leaned forward, pressing his teeth against Nero’s forehead. He heard an audible click, warped by its existence as a spectre of his father’s power. He quickly got what it was trying to do and blushed a bright red. “I-I’m not a kid-”

“That’s enough.” The doppelganger disappeared. Nero watched as Vergil put his knitting supplies back in the bag. “I can’t concentrate.” Nero was about to bite at him before realizing that it was more directed at himself than at him. Vergil promptly stalked off into the woods, leaving Nero alone at the lakeside. 

Well. So much for bonding.

* * *

It had been a good thirty minutes since Vergil left Nero at the lakeside. Nero was starting to get nervous as he finished preparing the fish for dinner. Plating the fish, he washed his hands in the sink. Drying off his hands, he took up Red Queen and stepped outside the RV to find Vergil. He glanced up at the sky, a hint of pink already seeping into the blue. It wouldn’t take long for the sun to set. He took in a breath, the faint forest air mingled with…

Blood. The aura of demons. To the north.

He followed the siren call of blood, the metallic aroma faint. It slowly grew in intensity as he walked but it wasn’t much, perhaps just one demon skulking in the woods? One demon could still do damage, Nero knew that too well, so he was still on his guard. At least Vergil was still out in the woods and one demon couldn’t possibly be much of a problem for him, right? He was far more worried if the demon was dining on a civilian. He had seen enough of that for a while. 

He had his answer the moment he found him: his father, hunched over the corpse of a single dead Riot demon. At first, he thought he was wounded but he noticed Vergil shifting to the side. He saw large bite marks in the demon’s dead flesh, marks that certainly wouldn’t come from any typical civilian...unless...

“You...what the fuck?” Nero stared at Vergil, who looked back at him with a mouthful of Riot demon in his mouth. His stoic ice cold father, covered in demon blood, just...stared at him. It confirmed his thoughts, at the very least. “Why the fuck are you eating a demon?”

“Because it’s filling.”

“We have actual food! I just finished cooking!” Nero balked. Vergil gave him a look.

“And? If it runs out, you’ll have to eat demon meat.”

“No thank you-”

“Maybe you should try some demon meat and maybe you'll calm down.”

“FUCK NO.” Nero snarled and picked him up with his spectral claws. “You are getting a faceful of food and a hot shower right now.” Before Vergil could say anything, Nero added “No excuses!”

“...fine.” Vergil let out a huff as Nero carried him back to the RV. Nero carried his surly father to the RV, gracelessly tossing him into the shower. Vergil let out an ‘oomf!’ as his back hit the wall. Nero closed the door with a little more gentleness, spectral wings fading as he gave his father privacy to shower. He returned to the dishes, taking one of them for himself. He took a seat at the table, a little protrusion from the wall, and began to eat the fishy meal. 

It was a meal typical of Fortuna’s fishermen, the fish of the day, bread, a lemon on the side for flavor, and some vegetables. Those came from Kyrie’s leftovers, a salad that the kids they were fostering wouldn’t touch. As Nero quietly ate, the air was filled with running water of the shower. He glanced to the bag on the couch opposite of him, where a pair of fully-knitted bright pink socks lay. He snorted at the thought of Dante wearing bright pink socks, just because his brother knitted them for him. 

And frankly, he’d probably do it. 

He had noticed, ever since they returned, Dante just seemed...happier. Devil May Cry wasn’t as much of a pigsty as it used to be. Lady even mentioned that Dante was getting better at repaying his debts, starting with the return of the original Kalina Ann  _ and _ the one Nico made for her. He hadn’t seen Lady that surprised since they first met. Nero could only barely imagine what sort of pain Dante went through when he had to kill his brother. He had fought Credo once, the man who was like a brother to him, while the other regarded him as an enemy. But not to the death, never to the death if Nero could have helped it. The pain of losing him, however, still stung (his arm, where the Devil Bringer used to be, tingled at the memory). The thought of putting Red Queen through Credo’s chest...he immediately threw it out of his mind and shoved a forkful of fish into his mouth. 

He looked up, hearing Vergil step out of the shower. He certainly looked a lot less bloodied, having changed into a button-up shirt and pants. His silver hair was still damp, he hadn’t run his hand through it to set it into his typical style. Nero had to do a double-take to not mistake him for Dante. His father took the other plate and sat down across from him, next to his bag of knitting supplies, and began to eat. An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by the quiet noises of utensils against plates.

“Nero.” Vergil finally spoke. Nero looked up. “It seems my...demonic heart is quite fond of you.” His voice was awkward, as if he wasn’t sure how he should explain it or if to explain it at all. 

“Fond is an understatement.” Nero huffed, no venom in his words. “What was it trying to do, feed me like I’m a baby?”

“That was exactly what it was trying to do.” Vergil pointed out. “To make up for two decades of lost time.” Nero frowned at that, taking a bite of the bread. 

“I mean...thanks? I guess?” He said awkwardly. Well, that was one thing they had in common: awkwardness all around. The silence fell around them again. Nero returned to eating dinner, glancing up to the window to watch the world around the RV darken from the setting of the sun. As they ate, a question formed in his mind. “Hey...why demon meat? Can’t imagine that tastes good.” 

“It doesn’t. It was all I had in the Underworld, all alone.” Vergil said simply. Nero frowned at that.

“You don’t have to eat demon meat anymore. Once Kyrie finds out, she’s gonna stuff you full of her cooking.” Nero hummed. 

“I recall you claiming she overcooks.” Vergil mused. “If Dante cannot finish what she makes, then I suppose I must.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nero noticed that his father was faintly smiling at that. 

“Yep. You’ll probably give Dante a run for his money.” Nero let out a small laugh at that, finishing the vegetables. “Just don’t stab him when he tries to steal your food.”

“...I promise.” And just like that, the air felt lighter, as if some of that awkwardness between them had eroded away. Perhaps they could have some sort of father and son relationship, just it took twenty years for them to start it. 

Perhaps he would end up thanking Dante at the end of all this instead of kicking his ass. 

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this fic was inspired by this post from an artist I really like, specifically this comic (https://twitter.com/TonyxsteveStony/status/1336336448249741313?s=20).


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